This Will Probably Kill You
by Yamchan
Summary: It was always a game of cat and mouse with them, always had been and always will be. The only problem was; between Spike and Faye, which one of them was the cat and which was the mouse?


In no realm of the imagination was Spike Spiegel a stranger to the world of speakeasies and the shady bars that made up the dark underbelly of New York. Quite the contrary actually. He'd practically grown up in the innumerous pubs littered all over the expansive city long before the prohibition came into play and of course, being the upstanding citizen that he was, Spike had momentarily considered giving up on his drinking habit to coincide with the new law.

He'd promptly drowned the thought by knocking back a crisp shot that had left him feeling more content than he likely deserved.

Truthfully these kinds of places were his bread and butter. They were familiar in a way that only a second home could be and yet he was still mildly surprised by the sheer amount of smoke permeating the air on this particular night. Not that he blamed the other men in the room, mind you. Even he was feeling a little high strung thanks to the sinuously seedy performer groaning into the microphone on stage for the entertainment of a house full of veritable wolves. Spike was in no position to judge anyone, he silently reminds himself as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Indeed his slacks were suddenly too tight and constricting but a quick glance around the room would have affirmed without doubt that he wasn't alone in this predicament. It was a fact the singer was well aware of and in truth seemed to revel in.

Her unrepentant sexuality was not only incredibly crash and in your face but it also held all the dirty promises of the devil himself, enticing husbands and bachelors alike to tug fretfully at their collars and loosen their suspenders. In a sleek blood red dress that hugged every delicious curve like a made to fit glove and deep crimson lipstick that was nearly black adorning sensuously pouty lips, she knew exactly what she was doing.

Given her evident mastery in the ways of eroticism, Spike really shouldn't have been surprised by the men practically inhaling their cigars and cigarettes at her expense. The tension in the bar was almost as palpable as the thick screen of grey smoke blurring her curvaceous silhouette, illuminated by a single spotlight trained on her lithe figure. If she had asked them to rob the national bank for her right then and there, Spike was sure that everyone would have clamored to oblige.

They were all wrapped quite thoroughly around her little finger and yet no one seemed to truly mind.

**.**

"She's trouble." Annie suddenly announced, drawing Spike out of his revere.

Glancing up from the newspaper splayed out across his lap and the photograph of one Ms. Faye Valentine, he regards the older woman with curiosity. He didn't think he'd been so obvious in his unwavering stare off with the monochrome picture of the up and coming singer who was coquettishly glancing over her shoulder and staring directly into his soul but he wasn't so proud as to deny it either. Annie was too perceptive so it would have been futile anyway. "What do you mean?" He asks in the unconcerned tone of any given ally cat who couldn't muster up the energy needed to _truly_ care about the opinion of others.

The plump woman sitting behind the store counter took a long, gratuitous drag on her cigarette as if gathering her thoughts. "You're going to get yourself in trouble if you get too close to that woman, Spike. She's too much like you."

"Should I be offended by that?" His voice was already wavering with the threat of laughter and Annie shot him a dark look for it.

"Be offended or not, I could really give a damn less." Her hand smacks the counter loudly, half in emphasis and half from being fed up with his BS. "You listen to me Spike, you're going to get burned. I know why you're interested in her, trust me. She's got just about every man in this city wagging their tongues and fondling their peckers over her but she's bad news. If you screw around with this woman you're going to end up either dead or on the run."

Spike's broad shoulders roll in an offish shrug as he returns his attention to the newspaper. "Neither of those options sound too bad to me." He admits in that same, could care less way much to Annie's exasperation.

.  
**.**

One side of her short, dark hair was still pulled up out of her face with a lavish, if not a tad overindulgent, headdress. She was fresh off the stage and it was evident in the light sheen of sweat on her face that made it look like she was glowing in the streetlights and she was petulantly glaring at him. He couldn't have been more infatuated if he'd wanted.

"I don't do autographs." Faye all but scoffs as she turns her nose to the air and tugs her fur coat tighter about her person. She makes to brush past him but his tongue is as quick as hers.

"Thats the last thing I want from you, ."

"Oh?" She drawls, pausing to glance back at him in a way that was all too reminiscent of her photograph in the paper. "I bet you think you're something real slick, huh? Well I've got news for you buddy; the answer is no."

She sounded like she was reprimanding a disobedient dog and despite himself that rubbed Spike just a tad the wrong way. "You don't know what I was going to ask."

"I think I've got a good idea." Faye simpers before turning to stalk down the back alley in her sinfully sharp black heels.

"I'll give you three guesses." He offers and follows after her as if they'd known each other for years.

She snorts at that. "I only need one, big boy."

"Chances are you'd be wrong."

"I'll take that chance."

A bemused smirk slowly plays at Spike's lips and he sidles up beside her amicably. "How about this; I'll tell you what I was going to ask if you tell me what you _thought_ I was going to ask."

She spares him a side glance and little more. "I'm not in the mood for this."

"Thats because you know you're wrong." He retorts, both surprised and impressed when Faye rolls her eyes harder than he thought was possible.

"I don't think I'm wrong in believing, with quite a bit of certainty I may add, that you want to ask for my telephone number. That you want to ask me out, promise me a great time. You'd promise me the world to get your teeth in me and you wouldn't feel at all guilty for it. You want to butter me up, make me feel pretty, smart and special. Like I'm something other than a grade A piece of meat to you. But I tell you right here, right now," She suddenly turns on him, halting their progression down the ally and all but hissing at him. "You've got another thing coming."

And all Spike can do in the heat of her annoyance is grin right in her face. "Actually I was going to ask where you learned to sing like that. You have a beautiful voice ."

Surprise washes over her delicate although passionate features and despite her best efforts he doesn't miss the light flush thats crept onto her cheeks. Shrugging deeper into his black trench-coat, Spike turns and walks away leaving the speechless singer to stand in the cold alley and watch his retreating back until he was completely out of sight.

.  
**.**

Spike wasn't a novice when it came to love. Despite his overall aversion with both stereotypical romantic notions and women in general, he was actually quite well adjusted to the dating game. He'd had his fair share of what most would call love and he'd likewise had his fair share of what most would call heartache. He'd played with fire before, a golden flame more brilliant than anything he'd ever seen, and he'd gotten burnt. Going through that a second time was the least of his desires but at the same time he wasn't exactly planning on marrying that singer. That Faye Valentine.

He just wanted to play with her, or at least thats what he was telling himself. Spike had seen the danger in her clear green eyes that first night he'd watched her perform in an illegal speakeasy and he'd seen it when he'd sought her out at the back exit of a mainstream theater. She was like a jungle cat; sleek and powerful, all sinewy muscle that was ready to pounce at a moments notice and he wanted that. If not on his arm then in his bed. Everything about her called to him, to the primal part of his brain that wanted excitement as well as a good lay, and it made him ignore all the warning signs.

Annie was right and he knew that. Faye was dangerous, there was simply no questioning that. It was very likely that she'd just as soon stab Spike in the back as spread her legs for him. But in the end wasn't that what he wanted? What made him crave her as badly as he did?

Of course it was, because the last thing Spike wanted in a woman was safe. He'd seen the trust and the love in Julia's eyes and where had that gotten him? Absolutely nowhere.

A woman like Faye was best suited to him if not for her danger then for her mistrust. Even if things were to progress to the point where he wanted to take things past the physical she would never allow it. Faye was a safeguard in and of herself and, really, that was all Spike wanted. Some reassurance that this wasn't going to be a repeat of love already lost.

.  
**.**

He came without warning and he came with booze.

One minute Faye had been shuffling around in her brand new, only recently rent out uptown apartment trying to make a passable cup of coffee and then the next she was standing in her doorway looking up at the same damnable man from the alleyway. A multitude of emotions washed over her as she stared up into chocolate brown eyes which were glinting much too brightly for comfort in what could only be described as smug amusement. Shock, disgust, concern, fear, anger. Her emotions did so many somersaults and cartwheels over one another that she was left dizzy and reeling, leaning heavily against the wood frame for support. "How the hell did you find me?"

"I had only to look for the most upscale, pompous apartment building in the city." Came his all too ready reply and then he was pulling a wrinkled paper bag from the folds of his trench coat and handing it out towards her. "I brought a house warming gift."

Faye could feel the muscle under her left eye straining as each and every nerve in her body seemed to come unraveled. Just who the hell was this guy? "How did you figure out which room was mine?" She demands, her voice low and dangerous but firm.

"Every good suitor has his sources. Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I don't want you here!" Faye shouts, finally snapping and slamming the door shut in his face.

Or at least thats what she'd intended to do but her unwelcome guest proved to be just a bit too quick with his boot which was now lodged firmly in the door jamb, effectively preventing her from locking and bolting him out. "That seems rude considering I came all the way up here just to see you." He said, much too calmly for her liking.

"You weren't asked to!" Faye snarls, leaning all her weight on the door and trying to close it with sheer force.

"I think that hardly matters now especially seeing as I brought you a gift."

"You can keep the booze! Its probably poisoned anyway!"

Even through the door she could hear his sharp, although feigned, intake of breath. " Ms. Valentine, you wound me!"

"Cry me a river!"

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you? To see a guy crying over you."

"Not usually but you?" Faye lets out a derisive bark of laughter and jerks away from the door as if burnt. "For you, I'd photograph it, frame it and hang it in my kitchen!"

"That doesn't seem very nice." He comments almost offhandedly as he pushes the door open and steps inside, as if her no longer barring his way was an open invitation to come inside. He quickly realizes his folly though when she leaps over the back of a finely upholstered French love seat, disappearing for but a moment before reappearing with a .38 caliber revolver clutched in both hands. Surprise washes over him in much the same way it had her and then a loud BANG ripped through the air like lightening. Before he can even understand what had just happened, the contents of his crinkled paper bag had shattered and a steady stream of alcohol was now soaking not only her intricately pattered Persian rug but also his boots. She was a surprisingly good shot for, well, a woman.

It didn't take him long to figure out that she wouldn't miss again so he quickly turns on his heel and bolts out of her apartment.

Faye was so quick to give chase that one might have thought she were an experienced bounty hunter in her free time.

"Not so fast slick! I'm not through with you yet!"

"I don't feel comfortable courting someone who brings a gun to a knife fight!" He calls over his shoulder, rounding the corner at the end of the hall seconds before the adjacent wall explodes in a burst of splintered wood, foam siding and dust.

"Urgh! You're so aggravating!" Faye screeches, pounding after him. "I wouldn't date you if you were the last man on Earth!"

"Thats whats going to end up happening if you try to kill _every_ man who approaches you!" Finally reaching the stairwell that connected the second floor to the first, Spike knew that he didn't have much left in the way of luck so he takes the steps three or four at a time. He nearly breaks his ankle when he slams too hard onto the landing, a quick grip on the banister the only thing keeping him upright as he winces and seethes in pain.

"If every man is like you then I'd happily kill each and every one of them!" At the top of the stairs, Faye trains her gun on the strange and infuriating man who'd given her a seconds opening in his pause. Seeing this, Spike dives mere seconds before the banister explodes in a hail of wood shards.

Clicking her tongue, the young performer flies down the stairs after him. She'd have his head if it was the last thing she ever did!

.  
**.**

Twenty minutes later when Faye Valentine had been subdued and handcuffed by the local police and Spike had long since fled the scene, she was asked _why_. Why would she shoot up the apartment building she'd only just moved into three days prior? Why would she cause so much damage over a man who was only enamored by her, and reasonably so at that?

She'd have been lying through her teeth if she said that she didn't want to shoot her interrogators as well. They had no idea who that man really was or how utterly and devastatingly he'd stepped on her toes. They were almost as bad as him in their naivety.

"Maybe you should reconsider renting to these celebrity types, sir." An officer by the name of Black had pityingly told the owner. "You read about it in the paper all the time. They let their success get to their heads and cause nothing but trouble."

"There wouldn't have been any trouble if that bastard hadn't come here." Faye hissed, glaring death at everyone in the back room of the apartment building that seemed to serve as an employee lounge as much as a storeroom. "If nothing else, you should be going after him for possession of alcohol. This shouldn't even be a question here. I'm the victim in all this!"

"You say that but," Officer black comments on a sigh, glancing down at where she was seated with an unreadably flat look. "The alcohol in question was found in your apartment and since there is no sign, neither hide nor tail, of this alleged man the responsibility kind of falls on you."

Faye's heart plummeted into the very depths of her stomach. "You've got to be kidding me ..."

"I'm afraid not, ma'am."

She fought valiantly to fight back the mounting tears, unable to believe what was happening. "So you're telling me ... its over? After all that hard work?" Her bottom lip quivered almost uncontrollably. Her fame wasn't suppose to end up like this!

"Well," The older man drawls, giving the building owner a sidelong glance. "In the end thats little more than circumstantial evidence and I could book you for a lot less but to be frank, I don't really want to have to do that. Not to someone like you." Faye can't help but perk up optimistically as she listened to him speak, realizing that maybe, just maybe, her future wasn't so bleak after all. "Now don't get me wrong . I know full and well that you're very likely up to all manner of illegal business. Thats just how you celebrity types are. But unless I actually catch you in the act, red handed so to speak, I can't rightfully lock you up. Not without burdening my conscience, anyway."

"So ... so you're letting me go?" She prodded, voice quavering with emotion.

"I'm not going to take you downtown on account of the booze but you'd better damn well believe you're in trouble for shooting up this honest businessman's building!"

So it was out of the frying pan and into the oven, as they say.

.  
**.**

Taking a slow, calming drag on his cigarette, Spike regarded that evenings newspaper with mirth. His plan to actually have a civil discussion with Faye Valentine had fallen through quite quickly in retrospect and it may have not even been the best idea in the first place. It had likely been a huge mistake to use his connections within the syndicate to locate her but what was done was done.

The photograph of her arrest took up nearly the entirety of the front page and it was a doozy, so to speak. Clad in a fluffy robe and sheer stockings, police escorted the young singer out of the apartment building and the surprisingly becoming look of pure hatred on her face just sealed the deal. She looked downright murderous.

Probably for the best, he decided at length .

Spike stood and dropped the paper on his small, beaten up coffee table before moving to retrieve his Tommy Gun from the hall closet. He had a job to take care of.

.  
**.**

A week after a group of local mobsters were brutally murdered in cold blood, New York had yet to hear another peep from young miss Valentine.

Another week passed.

It seemed like yet another uneventful week was set to pass by without consequence when Spike found himself lounging in a basement serving as a speakeasy one evening. He was bored and uncharacteristically lethargic. Far be it that his life was void of excitement given his role as a certified gangster, in fact he was almost certain that he experienced too much excitement on a day to day basis, but it seemed to have lost its luster. He'd never been chased by a gun toting babe before that last incident with Faye and now being attacked by gun toting _men_ just seemed ... pale in comparison.

Sighing, he shifts to retrieve a cigarette from his pocket but before he can find his lighter one is offered to him from directly to his left. He realizes with startling clarity that a woman was leaning right over his shoulder, a fact made all too apparent by the sensation of incredibly soft flesh that was decidedly breast-like in nature pressing up against his forearm. It was a bold move for a woman and couldn't help but smirk to himself at that.

"Appreciated." He murmurs, allowing the tip of his cigarette to slip into the flame as he leans closer to the offered lighter. He takes a casual drag to get the tobacco burning nice and good before turning his face up towards the unknown woman but the smirk was thoroughly wiped from his countenance when he saw who is standing over him. "F-Faye?!"

"Thats the first time I've heard you say my first name." She comments with a seductive smile before moving to sit directly across from him, tucking the lighter back into her expensive clutch purse as she does so. She looked all too triumphant sitting there with unwavering green eyes locked firmly on the man before her like a hawk watching a field mouse. "How have you been these last few weeks?"

"Better than you, if the papers are to be believed."

"And what, pray tell, do the papers say?" She asks, confidently propping her chin up on her hand.

"You were arrested, for one thing."

"Anything else?"

"Not really. I thought you were locked up for good."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Faye simpers, sitting up straight and folding her arms underneath her gracious bosom in what could only be described as a haughty manner. "Truth be told, I thought for sure that my career was finished but the good thing about me - other than my blinding good looks I mean - is that I'm not a quitter. I never give up."

"Is there a point somewhere in all of this?" Spike asks impatiently.

"The _point_, my mentally deficient friend, is that quite to the contrary my fame has all but spiraled out of control."

He can do little else but raise a skeptical brow.

A snort of laughter escapes Faye as she shakes her head, sending dark tendrils dancing over her milky white shoulders which were free of any blemish or imperfection. "Give me that look all you want, buster. It wont make a difference. The papers wont write about it because they want to hide the truth, they don't want to "sensationalize criminal activity" but its too late for that. You should have seen it! Every day in that blasted jail house my cell was flooded with presents and letters of encouragement. I'm more popular than I ever was before I tried to kill you."

Spike blinks owlishly at her, surprise written all over his face. "Does that mean you came here to thank me?"

"Not on your life!" She all but screams, jumping up to her feet and slamming her hands on the table that separated them by mere inches. "I came here to warn you!"

"Warn me about what?" He asks, sincerely confused.

The devilish grin that spreads across her face is truly terrifying and Spike has to struggle to fight down the resulting chill. "I wanted to tell you that I wont miss next time."

"Is that a challenge?" He intones, returning her smirk with equal intensity.

"It's a goddamn promise."

.  
**.**

A/N: I churned this out over the course of two days and it was written entirely to the tune of "Heart Attack and Vine" by Lydia Lynch. If you want some music to accompany this piece then just open a YouTube tab, hit play and enjoy. It really sets the mood and I think it makes it quite clear how this was spawned. My other source of inspiration was the movie Chicago and if you look close enough you can probably see some Velma Kelly in Faye's characterization. All that being said, I feel like the Cowboy Bebop fandom is more than likely dead by this point in time but oh well. I guess this is for any straggling fans so please, by all I means, enjoy.


End file.
